


The Fifty-Millionth Frenchman Affair

by LuckyLadybug



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Missing Persons, Spies & Secret Agents, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyLadybug/pseuds/LuckyLadybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to The Peaceful Meadows Affair. Napoleon and Illya, along with Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye, have been sent to Los Angeles on special assignment to find a rogue former extremist, Ms. Cue. The last thing they expected to discover was that Illya has a double living in the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Looking Through You

**Author's Note:**

> The characters from shows are not mine. The other characters and the story are! This is, finally, the follow-up to The Peaceful Meadows Affair from earlier this year. I will try to briefly summarize Peaceful Meadows in the first chapter as a refresher for those who read it and as a guide for those who didn’t. As the title implies for those in the know, David McCallum’s Perry Mason character will be involved in the plot. Chaos will ensue!

_“Kuryakin?”_

_Illya looked up with a frown and a start from the book he was reading in his cozy apartment’s best chair. “So now you’re coming around when I am not trying to sleep?” he said dryly._

_The ghostly form of Mr. Ecks smirked at him from the center of the room. “Then this time you believe I’m really here?”_

_“Frankly, I don’t know what I believe,” Illya retorted. “I could have fallen asleep reading, although I do not remember it.”_

_“Let’s say that you didn’t,” said Ecks, and he pulled his coat closer around him as he perched on the edge of Illya’s coffee table. “You said that there would have to be a reason why I can’t rest in peace for me to really be here, bothering you.”_

_“I also said that would be your problem, not mine,” Illya said in irritation. “If you are hoping I can tell you what’s wrong in your afterlife, I cannot.”_

_“Well, I would say that you must be the reason why I can’t rest in peace, since I keep coming to you,” Ecks remarked. “You did kill me, you know.”_

_“Yes, and had I known then that I would be unable to escape you, I might have let you live,” Illya said dryly. “That would have been better for both of us.”_

_“Unfortunately, it’s too late for that now.”_

_Too late . . ._

_Too late . . ._

“Illya?”

Illya Kuryakin started awake, his eyes snapping open while he remained reclined in the airplane seat. In the seat next to him, Napoleon Solo frowned in concerned confusion at his partner and friend.

“What is it?” Illya asked, frowning now as well. He sat up straight, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You were moaning in your sleep,” Napoleon said. “I believe you’re making some of the other passengers somewhat nervous.”

Now Illya turned to look at the other passengers. Most who were awake were occupied with the in-flight movie or their music or even their work, but a few had twisted around in their seats and were eyeing him uncertainly. Illya merely fixed each with an unimpressed stare and looked away again.

“Care to enlighten me as to what the fuss was all about?” Napoleon asked.

Illya sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was strange,” he admitted. “It was a sort of dream-memory; I was dreaming about something that for a while, I thought had actually happened.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s quite an ominous statement.”

“Quite.”

“What made you think it couldn’t have happened?”

Illya looked across the aisle to where Mr. Ecks had fallen asleep in a window seat, half-slumped against his friend and partner Mr. Wye. Not really minding, Wye had an arm around the younger man to support him. He was alternately staring into the distance and looking down at Ecks.

Illya kept watching them as he replied. “He’s alive.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Neither do I.” Illya watched them for a moment and then turned back to face Napoleon. “I never told you, Napoleon, but after we returned home following the . . . incident with Albert Sully in London, I had a succession of odd experiences wherein I was visited by what appeared to be the ghost of Mr. Ecks.”

Illya certainly had Napoleon’s complete attention. “And what happened during these experiences?” he asked.

“Mostly we talked. He was a nuisance and seemed to enjoy pestering me, much as he does in the here and now.” Illya looked troubled. “I was certain the first experience was only a dream. He came to me when I had been sleeping, and of course, you know I don’t tend to believe in the supernatural.”

“Of course.” Napoleon watched and waited for more.

“Then he started visiting me when I knew I wasn’t sleeping—in the living room when I was reading, in the kitchen where I was preparing dinner, even once in the bathroom when I was in the shower.”

Napoleon’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I had to wonder if I was going mad,” Illya admitted. “But I didn’t think stabbing an enemy agent could have possibly upset me that much. It never has before or since. So I decided I would rather believe I actually was being visited by a ghost. I stuck it out and hoped it would stop. Eventually, it did. I quite forgot it in time. Then Mr. Ecks presented himself to me, alive and well, and I had to start wondering again what I had seen.”

Napoleon leaned back, pondering on the problem. “Hmm.”

Illya wasn’t sure he liked that response. “Napoleon,” he demanded. “What is it?”

“Well,” Napoleon said, “there are several possible explanations for what happened to you. One, that you were simply hallucinating out of madness, we’ll set aside for the time being.”

“What are the others?” Illya asked warily.

“You may not like the main one I’m thinking of.” Napoleon spoke slowly, glancing over at the seats across the aisle. “Mr. Ecks was very sick for some time. Perhaps he repeatedly left his body during times when it was particularly bad and for some reason, he wandered to you.”

“You’re right,” Illya said, after taking a moment to process that. “I don’t like it.”

“You also won’t like the best way to find out whether it was all real or imagined,” Napoleon went on. “Simply ask him if he remembers those encounters.”

Illya scowled. “How would I even go about such a thing? It isn’t really casual conversation. And we are not close enough to share personal conversation.”

“It’s your choice,” Napoleon shrugged. “But you _did_ save his life. Perhaps that would entitle you to ask at least one question.”

“I saved his life.” Illya stared across the aisle, the memories of the past couple of days swirling through his mind. It had been such a bizarre series of events that had landed both pairs of spies in the Peaceful Meadows gated community to investigate a string of outlandish disappearances. Before the case had been solved, they had entered a huge fight with the leaders of the community and had discovered firsthand what the group’s strange, heart-stopping weapons were like. Ecks had saved Napoleon from being struck by a beam from one and had been shot himself seconds later.

From the haunted look in Mr. Wye’s eyes, he was probably remembering too. He had refused to believe Ecks was beyond hope and had struggled unceasingly to perform CPR while Illya had examined the blaster gun. He had realized that if he could rewire it to work in reverse, he might be able to jumpstart Ecks’ heart again. Miraculously, it had worked.

“I killed him in the past,” Illya spoke again, his voice and thoughts far away. “Yesterday I helped him live. I was repaying him for saving you, Napoleon.”

“And you wouldn’t have done it otherwise?” Napoleon queried.

“I don’t know,” Illya mused. “Under the circumstances, I probably would have.”

“Yes,” Napoleon nodded. “I think you would have.”

“And now Mr. Waverly has sent all of us here in search of a rogue agent from their old extremist organization,” Illya frowned. “There won’t be time for ridiculous conversations about astral projections or out of body experiences or whatever they’re called.”

“No, I suppose not,” Napoleon calmly agreed. “But you know, Illya, you did that yourself once, on a case in Italy. You nearly scared me half to death popping up in my car like you did and vanishing just as suddenly.”

Illya frowned. It was not an adventure he and Napoleon tended to talk about. It wasn’t something he could easily explain and he was content to sweep it under the carpet. He regretfully knew, however, that Napoleon had suffered during that escapade far more than he would ever admit. Until Napoleon had found Illya alive and comatose in a Rome hospital, he had believed Illya was dead and had come to say Goodbye.

“Yes,” Illya said at last. “I know. I cannot explain it, but I know it happened.”

The seat belt light came on and the flight attendant stood up to announce that they would be landing in Los Angeles within a few minutes. Illya sat up straight, clicking the seat belt shut.

Across the aisle, Wye gently nudged the still-sleeping Ecks. “We’re about there, Duck,” he said.

Ecks grunted and moved away from him, half-asleep as he fumbled with the seat belt.

“He certainly doesn’t seem very dangerous now,” Napoleon remarked.

Wye smirked at him. “Just you wait and see. If a threat was presented to him right now, he’d be fully awake faster than you could draw that special U.N.C.L.E.-issue gun of yours.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Napoleon nodded. “I’ve seen Illya come awake similarly quickly.”

The plane had only been about half-full, but when it safely landed and it was time to disembark, it was all too easy for the group to end up lost in the crowd. Other planes had come down around the same time, and inside LAX, there were throngs everywhere.

Mr. Ecks was definitely fully awake by now, and to his annoyance, he was indeed becoming lost as the people pushed him about. He was not a big man; apparently the crowds either didn’t notice him at all or didn’t think cutting in front of him was of any consequence. Naturally he wouldn’t do anything to them, but he had to smirk darkly as he thought of how they had no idea that he was a dangerous person and not someone to be crossed.

As he finally emerged into the baggage area and at last found a bit of room to move about, someone else crashed into him from the side and they both went down.

Immediately he looked to the other party in aggravation. “Kuryakin . . . !”

The other blond quickly pushed himself up, confused and guilt-stricken. “Oh, I am sorry,” he gasped. “It was all my fault. Please accept my apologies.” His glasses had slipped down his nose in the fall and he reached to push them up.

Ecks stared at him, not sure what surprised him more. “What is this?” he frowned. “Some new disguise? It’s a little early to decide you need one, isn’t it?”

The bespectacled man blinked at him, baffled. “I am not wearing a disguise.” He started to get up. “May I help you up?”

Ecks got up on his own, looking the stranger up and down. “You’re not Kuryakin?” How was that possible? This man was an exact double save for the glasses, and he knew from stalking Illya in the past that sometimes Illya wore them.

“My name is Phillipe Bertain,” was the reply. “I just got back from Paris. Oh, there is my luggage. Excuse me. And again, I am sorry.” He rushed to the merry-go-round to grab a suitcase.

Ecks stared after him for a long moment. Finally, deciding he wasn’t hallucinating, he approached the machine as well and searched for his and Wye’s luggage.

“There you are,” came Wye’s distinctive voice moments later. “I was wonderin’ where you’d got yourself off to.”

Ecks turned to look at him. “Did you see that man?” he demanded.

“Eh? Which one?” Wye blinked.

“The one that looked like Kuryakin’s long-lost twin brother!” Ecks exclaimed.

Napoleon, who was right behind Wye, quirked an eyebrow. “We most definitely did not see that.”

Illya wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it, either. “Are you sure?” he frowned at Ecks. “You’re not simply trying to get me annoyed?”

“Believe me, Kuryakin, a second you wasn’t exactly the discovery I wanted to make,” Ecks said flatly.

Illya lifted his suitcase off the merry-go-round. “He really was exactly like me?”

“In looks, yes. Except he wore glasses. And his hair may have been slightly shorter, when I think of it. He didn’t act like you, though.” Finally locating his suitcase, Ecks took it down.

“How do you mean?” Illya asked, wary now.

“He was very milquetoast,” Ecks said, smirking a bit to see Illya’s reaction to that. “He even apologized for the collision we had and said it was his fault. He said his name was Phillipe Bertain.”

“How interesting,” Napoleon said when Illya just stared.

Wye laughed. “That really must’ve been somethin’ to see! I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Yes. Well.” Abruptly Illya turned, looking for the nearest exit. “It may have been momentarily amusing, but it’s thankfully inconsequential. Let’s find our hotel and get settled. Then we can begin searching for Ms. Cue and hopefully end this alliance as soon as possible.” With that he walked past.

Napoleon winced. He had to wonder if Illya’s reaction was more from discomfort over the dream-memory he had woke up from on the plane rather than his distaste over the task at hand. Naturally working with these two characters would be somewhat awkward, but they had managed alright at Peaceful Meadows once they had decided to work with and not against each other. Napoleon was sure they could handle it again.

“Your chum seems a little edgy tonight,” Wye remarked. “Does it really bother him that much if there’s some mild-mannered French double of his running around the city?”

“I don’t think so,” Napoleon said vaguely. “But he has the right idea about finding our hotel. Shall we?” He took down his suitcase and moved to follow Illya.

Wye shrugged. “Lead on, Mr. Solo.”


	2. Defacing Private Property, Mr. Kuryakin?

_“I see you’re just about to sit down to eat, Kuryakin.”_

_“Had I known you were intending to drop by, I would have prepared something appropriate for you.” Illya’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “What is it spirits eat, anyway?”_

_“That is top-secret information,” Ecks sneered at him._

_“Well, whatever. I hardly intend to let an encounter with you spoil my appetite.”_

_“You don’t let anything spoil your appetite.”_

_“I consider that very wise.”_

Ecks seemed lost in thought as they pulled up at the Royal Hotel and went inside to check with the desk clerk about their reservations. If Napoleon or Illya noticed, neither commented. Wye definitely noticed, but he chose to keep quiet about it until they were alone.

“Two suites on the twelfth floor,” Napoleon reported as he turned away from the desk, holding two key cards in his hand.

Wye grabbed one. “That will suit us just fine,” he said. “Now, did any other information come in about our little Ms. Cue?”

“Not that we know of,” Napoleon replied. “We’re going to look into that as soon as we get up to our suite.”

“Good luck to you,” Wye said, giving them a mock salute.

“Sometimes I can’t decide which one of them is more annoying,” Illya said low to Napoleon as they headed for the elevator. “Mr. Ecks has his cheeky comments while Mr. Wye always seems to be mocking us.”

“Oh, I think both of them work very carefully at crafting those images,” Napoleon answered.

“How right you are,” Wye muttered, overhearing. But he said nothing else aloud, more anxious in talking to his partner and friend.

The group reached the twelfth floor together and separated to head to their separate suites across the hall from each other. Napoleon paused at the door, the key card in his hand. “Oh, we’ll let you know if there’s any new information on Ms. Cue’s whereabouts,” he said. “It isn’t likely, but perhaps Mr. Waverly and Mr. Bowen will have found something among Harley’s personal effects.”

“We’ll see, then,” Wye said, waving to him as Ecks swiped the key card through the lock and opened the door. They vanished inside, Wye shutting the door once they were both through.

Ecks kept going and took his suitcase to one of the two bedrooms, setting it down on the bed.

Wye followed him, folding his arms as he leaned on the doorframe. “Alright, Duck. What’s eatin’ you? It’s not that namby-pamby Kuryakin double, is it?”

“No, of course not,” Ecks retorted. “He was out of my mind moments after it happened.”

“What, then?” Wye persisted.

Ecks sighed, sinking onto the bed and spreading his hands on the comforter. “I had a dream,” he said slowly. “A dream of something that really seemed to have happened to me in the past.”

“Well, that’s ominous,” Wye said. “When did it happen? The real thing, I mean; I assume dreamin’ about it happened on the plane.”

“I dreamed then, it’s true,” Ecks agreed. “And in the past. I had a lot of strange dreams while I was recovering. They were just like that.” He looked down, then up. “They’re always about me going to bother Kuryakin following the stabbing. I’m dead.”

“You’re not really, thank anything that’s good and righteous in this world,” Wye proclaimed. “But those dreams do sound more than a little unsettling.” He frowned. “Funny they’d crop up right now.”

“Or maybe not,” Ecks countered. “Maybe what happened last night triggered them.”

Wye froze. “I guess that’s possible,” he said gruffly.

“Wye . . . ?” But Ecks trailed off, not really wanting to say what was on his mind.

Wye came in, perching on the edge of the bed. “What is it, Ecks?” he said quietly.

“What if . . .” Ecks hesitated and shook his head. “What if those ‘dreams’ really happened? We already established that I left my body in Hyde Park; what if I did it again? And again?” He shivered.

Wye laid a hand on Ecks’ shoulder. “That wouldn’t matter to me,” he said. “I’m just relieved you’re here at all.”

“I am too,” Ecks said with a ghost of a smile. “But I don’t like the thought that I couldn’t control what happened to me or where I even went!”

Wye sighed. “That’s not very pleasant, is it. Well, if you really want to know the truth, you could just ask Kuryakin about it.”

“But I don’t really want to.” Ecks laid back on the bed, spread his arms on the mattress, and stared at the ceiling. “If it didn’t happen, he’d think I was daft. And if it did . . .” He trailed off. “. . . I’d have to accept it was real.” He rolled onto his side. “It was hard enough having to accept that I left my body even once. I don’t even know how to deal with the thought that there were multiple times.”

“Well . . .” Wye turned to look at him. “I guess you’ll have to decide what’s worse then: not knowing or knowing.”

“I know. But there’s no time for that anyway.” Ecks rose, propping himself up on his forearms. “We have to think about where we might find Cue.”

“As I recall, she was really into music,” Wye mused.

“Rebellious music,” Ecks put in.

“Yeah, you were both rebels,” Wye said. “Her because she wanted in, you because you wanted out.”

A knock at the door brought their attention up. “That had better be Solo and Kuryakin with information,” Ecks said. “Or room service.”

Wye chuckled and shook his head. “We ain’t sent for anything yet.” He got off the bed and headed out of the room.

Ecks hopped down and followed him. “They might send something complimentary.”

Wye was amused as he opened the door seconds later. Ecks always could brighten his day. “Yeah?” he greeted.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re in a good mood,” Napoleon remarked. “Illya has just talked with Mr. Waverly in New York.”

“And what did he have to say?” Wye asked.

Illya closed his communicator pen. “That there is only one more lead to Ms. Cue’s current whereabouts,” he said flatly as he and Napoleon went in. “Among Mr. Pea’s effects was a memo on Ms. Cue’s interests. There was a checkmark beside _books_ , so Mr. Waverly wonders if Mr. Pea had learned that she was working in a library or a bookstore.”

“Cor blimey,” Wye exclaimed. “Do you know how many of those there are in this city?!”

“We were just thinking maybe she’d be working somewhere with music,” Ecks said. “That was what she liked the most.”

“What if it’s both?” Illya suggested. “We should check all bookstores that have a music section. Libraries as well.”

Wye nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a right good idea,” he said. “A lot of bookstores do have music sections these days.”

“So we’ll look in the Yellow Pages for all such bookstores,” Napoleon said. “They should come up under the Music listings.”

“That’s a good starting point, but some of them might not be listed there,” Wye said. “We’ve found out that you can’t always trust the telephone directory to give you the whole truth.”

“Naturally we will check every bookstore and library, music section or not, if we cannot find her at first,” Illya said.

“Too bad we arrived so late,” Napoleon mused. “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to officially start our search.”

“Well, we can make a list tonight, anyway,” Wye shrugged, crossing to the telephone table and opening the drawer. Taking out a heavy directory, he let it thump on the table’s surface.

Ecks immediately came over and started pawing through the pages until he came to the Music section. The group crowded around.

“Alright, alright, give me room to breathe,” Wye grumped. “Now, I’ll read off the names and addresses and you three’ll write them down.”

That took several minutes. At the conclusion, Wye turned the directory to the Book section.

Ecks stared at it. “Maybe we should just photocopy the pages.”

“Or rip ’em out . . . but I don’t imagine U.N.C.L.E. would take too kindly to that,” Wye quipped, looking up at Napoleon and Illya.

Illya looked back, unamused and unimpressed. “We wouldn’t be able to arrest you for it. Actually . . .” He studied the pages. “There is quite a lot here. It takes far too much time to write every name and address down.” With that, he calmly and deliberately ripped out the first page.

“Why, Illya, I never knew you to deface private property on purpose unless it belonged to one of our enemies,” Napoleon deadpanned.

“Normally I would not, but we are on a case,” Illya replied. “We need to save as much time as possible for the important things.”

Wye tore out the next page. “I quite agree with you, Sir! Now, might I recommend we order a late dinner and discuss how we’re going to go about investigatin’ all of these places?”

“Very well.” Illya grabbed the telephone with a great deal more glee than he would outwardly show in his face or his voice.

Amused, Napoleon crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Gentlemen, I doubt you realize what Pandora’s Box you’ve just opened.”

Wye shrugged. “Eh, as long as U.N.C.L.E. pays for it, who cares?”

Two hours later, when everyone else was full and Illya continued to snack on the leftovers, Wye stared at him for a long moment and slowly shook his head. “Where do you put it all?” he marveled. “You even out-ate Ecks.”

Illya just shrugged. “I have excellent metabolism.”

“To put it mildly,” Napoleon intoned. “Alright, so have we agreed on a course of action for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. We’ll check Hollywood while you two look at the San Fernando Valley. If we don’t find anything, we’ll meet up in downtown Los Angeles. Only . . .” Wye paused. “What if _you_ find Cue? She won’t be too willing to talk to either of you, I figure.”

Ecks nodded. “The whole reason Mr. Waverly wanted us to come along was so that you might have a better chance of bringing her in.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Napoleon looked to Illya and then back to the British agents. “The most logical thing to do is split up in a different manner—Mr. Wye with me, Mr. Ecks with Illya. Or vice versa.”

“That is acceptable. I will go with Mr. Ecks,” Illya said, even as he stared Ecks down.

Ecks just smirked at him. “It’ll be fun, Kuryakin. If we can keep from throttling each other.”

“I will manage somehow.” Illya stood. “And now we should all get some sleep to prepare us for our search.”

Napoleon got up as well. “I quite agree. Goodnight.”

Ecks and Wye bade them Goodnight, even as Wye took another stare at the current state of the food cart. He slowly shook his head, still in disbelief.

Illya noticeably relaxed once they were out in the hall and heading to their suite across the way. “Tomorrow is not going to be pleasant,” he frowned.

“Well, it should be interesting, in any case.” Napoleon swiped the key card through the lock and opened the door. “But we could switch, if you want. I wouldn’t mind going with Ecks.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Illya followed Napoleon inside. “It would look petty and childish for me to back out. Besides, I don’t know that I would like going with Mr. Wye either. At least I know more what to expect from Ecks.”

“That’s true,” Napoleon agreed. “If there’s a lull in your conversation, do you plan on asking him about your dream-memory?”

“Not particularly,” Illya said. “I can do without his snarking at me that I must have gone mad.”

Napoleon vaguely nodded as he shut the door. “If he remembers too, you might be surprised by his reaction.”

“Perhaps.” Illya advanced farther into the room, then paused. “Napoleon . . .” He turned back to face his friend and partner. “Do you really believe this case is as simple as collecting Ms. Cue and bringing her back to New York for arrest and questioning?”

Napoleon paused too. “It could be.”

“But you don’t really think so,” Illya surmised.

“No, I don’t.” Napoleon looked to him. “And I don’t know if Mr. Waverly thinks so either.”

Illya sighed, crossing to the couch. “I wondered if it was just my imagination that he sounded unusually tense and then strangely relaxed when I said we had arrived safely and all was well.”

“It wasn’t your imagination.” Napoleon walked over and sat on the other end of the couch. “I’ve been thinking. Mr. Pea and Ms. Cue both escaped capture and ended up here. There could be others. We need a list of all the extremist organization’s members who are unaccounted for.”

“Including all the ones listed as Deceased,” Illya said flatly. “We’ve seen how accurate that information is. Ecks and Wye are still officially dead according to U.N.C.L.E. records. That is actually rather odd. I don’t know why Mr. Waverly didn’t update their status after I discovered Ecks was stalking me.”

“Mr. Waverly must have his reasons,” Napoleon said. “He generally does. It’s not up to us to question him.”

“I am aware of that. But in private I question it anyway.”

“Perhaps he feels that they are useful to us right now and their usefulness would end if they were listed as Living and their old comrades came after them to kill them,” Napoleon suggested.

“That is possible, I suppose.” Illya sounded noncommittal.

Napoleon let the subject drop. “If any of those old comrades are as deranged as Mr. Pea was, Ms. Cue could actually be in danger,” he said.

“And so could Ecks and Wye. Maybe even us by association.” Illya stood.

Napoleon got up as well. “One thing you had better ask Mr. Ecks tomorrow is which members would pose the greatest threat to us if they’re alive and learn what’s happening here.”

“I’ll do that,” Illya promised. “But for now, goodnight, Napoleon.”

“Goodnight.” Napoleon went into the bedroom to the right, which he had already claimed earlier. Behind him, he heard Illya shutting the door to the other.

He frowned as he slowly walked into the room, loosening his tie. He had to hope to himself that they were wrong. Perhaps this actually would be a simple mission.

Then again, with their track record, he doubted it.


	3. Don't Miss Your Cue

_Illya supposed he really shouldn’t have been surprised when he entered the bathroom for a late-night shower and found Mr. Ecks sitting on the counter. He gave the spirit a flat look. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your afterlife?”_

_Ecks shrugged. “Honestly, Kuryakin, I don’t want to be here. You told me I must be unable to rest in peace or I wouldn’t keep coming around. If I knew how to make it stop, I can assure you I would.”_

_“Well, whatever.” Illya started to pull off his turtleneck shirt. “I am going to take a shower.”_

_“Go right ahead,” Ecks returned with a blasé sweep of his arm._

_“Are you planning to park there the entire time?” Illya asked._

_“I’m not especially planning anything. It’s out of my control whether I stay or go.”_

_Unimpressed, Illya asked, “And what would you do if it wasn’t?”_

_“As I said, I have no interest in being here.” Ecks folded his arms. “If I was free to do as I please, I could certainly find better things to do than watch you wash up for the night.”_

_“I only wish I could arrange it for you,” Illya grunted as he finished disrobing and climbed into the tub. He pulled the shower curtain forward with a cold and metallic **ching**._

“Earth to Illya. Come in, Mr. Kuryakin.”

Illya snapped to attention as he nearly collided with Napoleon in the living room. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” he grumped.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for the last couple of minutes,” Napoleon retorted.

Illya sighed, reaching up to massage his forehead. “I am sorry, my friend. It was a strange night, to say the least.”

“Aha. More unwelcome dream-memories?” Napoleon deduced.

“Yes.” Illya headed for the door. “Have you heard anything new about the case?”

“Nothing.” Napoleon fell into step beside him. “I suppose that after breakfast we’ll split up and start looking for Ms. Cue at all the book and music stores we can manage.”

“Hooray,” Illya flatly intoned. “It will be a relief to find her and get this assignment over with.”

“I thought that would cheer you up,” Napoleon deadpanned. “Honestly, Illya, maybe if you just talk with Mr. Ecks, you can clear this whole thing up and you won’t have to act like it’s a visit to the dentist for the entire rest of the case.”

“Perhaps.” Illya stepped into the hall. “We shall see.”

****

Ecks and Wye were already in the dining room when Napoleon and Illya went down. Wye looked up as they approached, seeming fairly personable as he greeted the U.N.C.L.E. agents with, “Well, top of the morning to you both!”

“Thank you,” Napoleon said with a nod. He pulled out a chair and settled down, taking up the menu.

“Good morning,” Illya said with a cordial yet cool nod. He followed Napoleon’s lead, eager for breakfast.

Ecks set down his menu. “I hope you’re ready for a long day of searching, Kuryakin, because that’s liable to be the way of it.”

“I am ready to look for Ms. Cue,” Illya grunted. “What I am not entirely certain of is whether I am ready to look for her all day long with you.”

Ecks smirked. “Well, we’ll find out now, won’t we?”

“Yes,” said Illya. “We will.”

“Tell us,” Napoleon said suddenly, “if other members of your organization are alive and on the loose, would any of them be interested in locating Ms. Cue?”

“And if so, which ones would be the most dangerous,” Illya added.

Wye paused. “Those are fair questions,” he said, “but I don’t know the answers. Like we told you, she was gettin’ to the point where she regretted bein’ in the thing. She just didn’t know how to get out. Most of the organization suspected how she felt, even if they didn’t know for sure. If your Albert Sully hadn’t toppled it when he did, somebody probably would’ve been dispatched to eliminate her before too long.”

Ecks nodded in agreement. “Suppose that some other idiot like Mr. Pea wanted to start the organization again. I doubt Ms. Cue would be very high on their list of potential members.”

“But they might still want to cut her out of the picture,” Wye added. “Since she knew about the organization and how it operated, they wouldn’t want her to decide to turn state’s evidence and reveal all, like Mr. Waverly is hoping she will. That would kind of muddy up their hopes of startin’ the thing again.”

“I see,” Napoleon frowned. “And we know Mr. Pea, A.K.A. Harley of Peaceful Meadows, was indeed hoping to restart the organization.”

“And he knew approximately where Ms. Cue had escaped to,” Illya added. “What if all of his followers were not captured or killed at Peaceful Meadows?”

“In other words, what if he already sent assassins after her, eh?” Wye supplied.

“Exactly,” Napoleon nodded. “We may be in a race against time to find her before they do.”

Wye leaned back, carefully processing that suggestion. “Well, then,” he said at last, “we’d better make sure we don’t fail in the task. Just supposin’ that some of the others are alive and might want her dead, I’d say that any of them would be dangerous.” He paused. “But maybe Mr. Eff the most of any of ’em. He was one of them fanatics. Never liked him myself.”

“The feeling was mutual,” said Ecks. “Really, he never liked either one of us.”

“Mr. Arr was a bad sort as well,” Wye added. His voice darkened. “He’s one of Ecks’ contemporaries. A really nasty git.”

“Who hated Mr. Ecks, I presume,” Napoleon supplied. “I doubt you would sound so hateful otherwise.”

“You got that right,” Wye nodded.

“According to U.N.C.L.E.’s official records, they are both dead,” Illya said. “But that could very likely not be true.”

“We shall be forced to consider the possibility that it might not be,” Napoleon declared.

“Any one of them could be mixed up in this, except for Ms. Kay,” Wye said. “She was a spy for some French counterspy organization.”

“Yes, we know about her,” Napoleon nodded. “She’s on assignment in London right now, I believe.”

“Yeah, took up with some chap named Simon Templar,” Wye grunted. “But anyway.”

****

Breakfast was delicious but tense as the four spies discussed strategies and wondered what would happen on their search for Ms. Cue. They split up after the meal, each promising to contact the other group if they encountered anything the slightest bit strange. In their line of work, they couldn’t be too careful.

Illya certainly found it awkward and uncomfortable to be spending the day with Mr. Ecks as they searched the Hollywood area book and music stores. And although Ecks put on his usual cheeky air and seemed to take delight in teasing Illya off and on, he really seemed to be uncomfortable as well. Silence was more common between them than any conversation.

“What is it?” Illya asked at last at the end of the long and tiring search, as they were heading to downtown Los Angeles for the meet with the others.

“What’s what?” Ecks grunted.

“As much as you try, you don’t seem to be your usual obnoxious self,” Illya said flatly.

“I’m just tired, Kuryakin,” Ecks insisted. “Tired and frustrated after a long and fruitless day of searching. Not to mention that having your heart forcefully stopped takes a lot out of you. I almost died less than two days ago. I can’t be back at one hundred percent just yet.”

“That is all very believable,” Illya nodded. “Only it’s never a good idea to reveal to a spy other than your ally that you are currently in a weakened state of being.”

“A practice that I most certainly subscribe to,” Ecks sneered. “But right now we’re in that curious position of being allies, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Illya relented. “We are.”

“And in that case, it is a good idea to warn your companion of your current state of being.” Ecks slowed down, eyeing a building that they were approaching.

“Another bookstore,” Illya noted. “Perhaps we should go in and check it while we’re here.”

“Bertain’s Books,” Ecks read off the door. “That’s twice in as many days. It’s surely not that common of a name.”

Illya gave him a flat look. “Are you trying to tell me that my milquetoast double Phillipe Bertain owns this bookstore?”

Ecks shrugged. “Why don’t we go in and find out?” He hauled open the heavy door, causing a bell to jangle overhead as he stepped through.

Illya followed him in, looking around warily as he did.

“Mr. Bertain?” a female voice called. When no one answered, a young girl ran out from behind some shelves, regarding Illya with impatience. “Mr. Bertain!”

Illya pointed at himself in realization. “I? Miss, you are mistaken. I am not this Mr. Bertain.”

She scowled. “Please don’t play jokes, Mr. Bertain. I need to know where to shelve the sheet music.”

Ecks would have been amused at the mistaken identity, had the girl’s appearance not sent him reeling in surprise. “Cue!” he exclaimed.

She jumped a mile and looked to him, her eyes burning. “You! Instead of just trying to escape, you just tried to take over that organization for your own satisfaction and profit. And you faked your death to keep from paying the consequences of your actions!”

“You don’t seem that surprised to see him alive,” Illya tried to insert, but she ignored him.

“I didn’t really fake my death,” Ecks retorted. “This character stabbed me and left me for dead. Whatever Wye then told to Zed was only said to protect me. But look, Cue, you might be in danger. You need to come with us.”

“I’m not going with you!” Cue snapped. “I don’t trust you any more than I trust that Mr. Pea who found me before!”

Ecks flinched, actually looking hurt. “You trusted me once,” he said. “You liked both me and Wye. We’re part of this mission because we thought you’re be more likely to be at ease if we were along.”

“Miss,” Illya interrupted again, hurriedly taking out his card. “I am Illya Kuryakin of the U.N.C.L.E. My superior Mr. Waverly wants to find you and learn what you know of the organization you and Mr. Ecks here worked for.”

“I don’t trust you either, if you’re working with _him!_ ” Cue said, indicating Ecks. “You’re not welcome in here. Get out!” She pointed at the door.

“What is going on here?” a new voice joined the conversation. “This isn’t any way to treat customers, Ms. Rebecca.”

Illya stiffened in disbelieving amazement. It sounded like his own voice with a French accent.

“They’re not customers, Mr. Bertain!” Cue shot back. “But one of them looks like you!”

“What?!” Phillipe Bertain came out from around a shelf. “That’s ridiculous. It isn’t possible.” But then he caught sight of Illya and stared. “Oh. Oh, I see.”

It took a lot to visibly startle Illya. Right now, however, he was very visibly startled. He shook his head, trying to drag himself back to the present. “We mean no harm to your employee,” he said, trying not to think about how he was looking at himself. “We only wish to speak with her and turn her over to my superior at the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. She was formerly part of a dangerous extremist organization operating in Europe.”

That sent the color draining from Phillipe’s face. “I can’t believe that,” he stammered. “Ms. Rebecca has never shown any indication that she has such disturbing viewpoints.”

“I made a mistake.” Cue clenched her fists. “I didn’t really know what I was getting into when I joined them. I didn’t realize the kinds of things they did. Once I knew, I wanted to get out but didn’t know how.”

“And realizing that, Mr. Waverly hopes to be able to reduce your sentence if you cooperate with us,” Illya said.

“Is that what happened with you?” Cue pointed at Ecks. “Did you turn over all your knowledge in exchange for freedom?”

“No,” Ecks admitted. “Wye and I were considered dead, so there were never any warrants issued on us.”

“Well, bully for you.” Cue blinked back what almost looked like the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “I thought you were both dead. At first I thought you’d been caught trying to escape, but then I learned the full truth, that you were only trying to take over the organization with Zed. You didn’t really want out, like I did. I thought you did too.”

“ _I_ wanted out!” Ecks cried. “I never wanted _in!_ But you know as well as I do that getting out just wasn’t possible. When Zed decided to take it over and give Wye and I higher positions if we helped him, I thought it was the only possible option. If we had succeeded, my intentions were to change everything I could about how the organization was run. No, it wouldn’t have been as good as getting out, but I thought it would be better than what we had!”

Illya stepped back and watched the heated conversation, frowning a bit to himself. He had never seen Ecks so emotional. Usually, like Illya, he was aloof and cold or sarcastic and mischievous. Illya wasn’t quite sure what to make of the strange British agent now.

Cue looked at Ecks for a long moment. Then, turning away, she focused on Illya. “Are you saying I’m under arrest now?”

“Basically, yes,” Illya replied. “But it’s for your own protection. You say that Mr. Pea found you. He may have wanted you dead and sent someone to kill you.”

“What?!” Phillipe gasped. “Oh no, Mr. Kuryakin. That cannot be allowed to happen. Please take her and keep her safe!”

“Thank you, Mr. Bertain, but I can take care of myself.” Cue turned away. “I was one of the elite alphabet agents too. I don’t need U.N.C.L.E.’s protection. And the organization is defunct now; you don’t need my information.”

“That isn’t true!” Illya protested. “Remnants of the organization still exist. Mr. Pea was trying to recreate it back in New York. We have just come from overthrowing his attempt. But just because he is gone doesn’t mean there couldn’t still be others of like mind. Your information may give us clues about how to stamp out every last particle of the organization.”

“And someone would end up dead for sure if I gave you what you wanted,” Cue retorted. “Those remnants would find me no matter where I went. But then it wouldn’t be my life on the line any longer; it would be my sister’s.”

Illya hadn’t expected that. “They threatened your sister?”

“That’s right,” Cue snapped. “I took her name as an alias hoping that if anything did go wrong, they’d come after me thinking I was her.”

“She took on a name similar to yours to go undercover at Mr. Pea’s gated community in an attempt to find you,” Ecks said.

Cue started. “What?!”

“And she almost did die during the battle we had with him,” Illya put in. “That didn’t have anything to do with you. But she wouldn’t have been in such a situation if she hadn’t been searching so desperately for you.”

“Then there’s really nothing I can do,” Cue whispered in dismay.

“Your sister is in U.N.C.L.E.’s custody now,” Illya told her. “She is quite safe for the moment.”

“What about when she’s no longer safe ‘for the moment’? Or worse, what if you have traitors in U.N.C.L.E.?” Cue’s eyes flashed.

“Most likely she will go into the Witness Protection Program,” Illya said. “If you come with us, you may be allowed to go with her.”

“Please go with them, Ms. Rebecca,” Phillipe pleaded. “It seems that it’s the best chance for both you and your sister.”

“Well, I don’t agree.” Abruptly Cue pulled a small ball out of her pocket and threw it right at Illya and Ecks.

Ecks caught it in his hand. “I remember your smokescreen tricks. You’re not going to pull another one now.”

Cue gave him a dark look. “I’m sorry I can’t trust you, Ecks. Or Wye either. I liked both of you. But you betrayed the organization for the wrong reasons and I can’t take the chance that you might be secretly working for the remnants now, on threat of death if you don’t cooperate.”

“I killed Mr. Pea!” Ecks cried in desperation, his patience lost. “He was going to kill Kuryakin’s partner and I shot him. He shot me in turn. I nearly died! Would any of that have happened if we were secretly working for Pea or any of the other remnants?”

“That’s true,” Illya said. “That is exactly what happened. You liked Mr. Ecks in the past. It is for your and your sister’s well-being that you trust him now and come with us.”

Cue frowned. “You could be right.” She hesitated, then finally nodded. “Alright, I’ll take a chance and go with you.”

“Oh good,” Phillipe said in relief. “I am sure you won’t regret it.”

“You may be in danger too,” Illya said, looking to him. “If there are assassins looking for her, they very likely know of this place and may come here asking for her.”

“Then I will say that you took her away and I do not know where,” Phillipe replied. “That is the truth; they will not be able to get anything more out of me.”

“These are vicious men; they might not leave you alive even if you don’t know anything,” Illya warned. “I’m going to call Mr. Waverly and relay the situation to him.”

“We also need to let Wye and Solo know what’s happened,” Ecks reminded him. “They’ll be waiting at the meeting place.”

“True,” Illya relented. “Alright, I’ll call Napoleon first and they can be coming here while I contact Mr. Waverly.”

Taking out his communicator, he attempted to make contact with Napoleon’s. But it only beeped without picking up. After several failed tries, Illya was badly troubled.

“Something’s wrong,” Ecks said fearfully, his stomach twisting. “I should try to reach Wye.”

“Do that,” Illya said. “But we may need to leave immediately. The assassins could have intercepted them and are now looking for us. They may be very near.”

Ecks turned away. Pulling out his own communication device, he dialed Wye’s number and waited worriedly for an answer. When there was at last a pick-up, Wye sounded gruff and occupied. “Ecks, where are you?” he demanded without so much as a Hello.

“We found Cue,” Ecks told him. “What’s going on, Wye? Why isn’t Solo answering Kuryakin?”

“We’re a little tied up at the moment,” Wye retorted. “If you’ve got Cue, get out of there right now! We’ll have to get in touch later and make a new meeting place.” Something crashed and Wye hissed in pain. “Oh, bloody . . .” The call disconnected in Ecks’ ear and _No Signal_ flashed across the screen.

Ecks stared in horror. “Wye . . .” But he snapped to attention, shoving the device back in his pocket. “We have to do as he said and get out of here!” he ordered.

The door burst open, nearly tearing off its hinges as the bell jangled wildly overhead. A badly scarred agent Ecks recognized stood in the doorway, bearing his gun menacingly.

“Alright,” the man snarled, his voice rough and unfeeling. “My name is Arr. Ecks will remember me. Cue is coming with me and the rest of you are going to be dead.”


	4. Doubles Are Not Pushovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I tried to keep it to myself, but near the end of the last chapter I pretty much had to reveal that these U.N.C.L.E. stories, like the ones I tinkered with two or three years ago, have moved the setting to the present-day. I know most people prefer it as a period piece, but since the show rarely dated itself and there wasn't a lot of suspicion concerning a Russian working in U.N.C.L.E., I feel that the adventures work every bit as well in the present-day. There's a couple more references in this chapter, but only because I rather had to continue that thread of plot from the prior chapter. I will try to keep all such references to a minimum and only mention them if there are other occasions where the plot forces my hand.

_“So tell me,” said Illya, as he closed his book while sitting in his favorite living room chair, “why are you not with your partner? You’re both dead. You should be with him and not with me.”_

_“I’d rather be with him,” Ecks replied, his eyes burning. “But how do you know he’s dead? Maybe he got away.”_

_“He’s dead,” Illya said matter-of-factly. “According to the information I have on the situation, he attacked a former female agent in a fit of blind rage, babbling some nonsense about blaming her for what happened in the park. He was eventually shot by a female sentry in your organization. It was an accident, but nothing could be done for him. I saw him lying dead.”_

_He wasn’t expecting Ecks’ reaction. The spectre fell back, looking haunted himself. “I thought he was alright,” he said, his voice vague and far away. “I thought if he wasn’t, we would have met up.” Suddenly angry, he leaped off Illya’s coffee table, his coat swirling open at the motion. “Instead I’m stuck here with you, my killer! Does that mean he’s haunting some female sentry?!”_

_“I don’t know,” Illya said honestly. “I’m still having trouble believing any of this is truly happening.” He paused, weighing his words. “If you cared for him, I’m sorry. He certainly seemed to care a great deal about you.”_

_“What do you know about it?” Ecks asked, sounding broken and saddened again._

_“Both of the times I saw him after I stabbed you, he behaved as though he was reacting to that. It was a far stronger reaction than most people would have for someone who was only a comrade and not a friend.” Illya stood, closely watching his ghostly visitor._

_Not facing him, Ecks merely gave a nod. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “We were friends, Kuryakin. Just like you and Solo.”_

_“How do you know about Napoleon and I?” Illya frowned, not sure he liked that this character was aware of that friendship. Not that he could use it against Napoleon and Illya, but it still made Illya feel very uncomfortable, all things considered._

_A humorless shrug. “How do I know anything about you?” Ecks said morosely. “I know your name, where you live, and who is most important to you.” He turned back to face Illya. “We fought on opposites sides, but on some things we’re not so different, you and I.”_

_“And what would you do about that?” Illya asked warily._

_Ecks smirked at him now, but it was without his usual sass. “Nothing, even if I could. What would be the point? We have our separate lots in life. I have no desire to try to take revenge on you, Kuryakin. Certainly not by harming your friend.”_

_“Some people don’t need a point,” Illya said. “But thank you for telling me that, even if it is an irrelevant issue.”_

_“I aim to please,” Ecks said with a bit of a sarcastic sneer. But from the sadness in his eyes, Illya could see he was telling the truth about not intending to harm Illya or Napoleon. He was a spy whose usefulness had faded out, even though his feelings burned as strong as ever. And Illya had to wonder—would death be like this for him someday?_

Perhaps to everyone’s surprise, it was Phillipe who spoke first following Arr’s unpleasant announcement in the shop.

“Look here,” he said angrily, stepping forward. “I own this bookstore. I certainly do not intend to stand by and let you kidnap and kill right under my nose!”

Arr didn’t look impressed. “It’s not like I’m giving you any choice,” he retorted. “And I know about you, Mr. Bertain. You’ll be a pushover. You can’t fight.”

“I can,” Cue frowned. “What is this, Arr? What do you want with me? In case you aren’t aware of it, the organization is over. Ended. Defunct. I’m free to live my own life.”

“You’re living on the run because there’s a warrant out on you,” Arr scoffed. “That isn’t freedom.”

“Going with you isn’t either,” Cue said, folding her arms.

“Mr. Pea was going to start the sacred organization again,” Arr snarled. “But everyone who wasn’t with us was going to have to be eliminated so that they couldn’t use their information against us. That included you.”

“Perhaps you don’t realize,” Illya spoke up. “Mr. Pea is dead.”

“I realize,” Arr said darkly. “You killed him.” He regarded Ecks with a twisted, hateful expression. “I knew something was wrong with you when you were such a quiet kid who didn’t even appreciate that your parents were making a great contribution to eventual world peace.”

“My parents were making a great contribution to being part of an insane group with, as Wye would say, delusions of grandeur,” Ecks replied coldly. “And they stuck me with their legacy when they were killed.”

“And you should have been honored to carry it out!” Arr snapped. “Instead, you eventually turned against the organization and tried to take it over with Wye and Zed.” He looked to Illya. “I wish you had killed him in Hyde Park. He doesn’t deserve to live.”

Illya’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak, not wanting to antagonize the man further. He was clearly fanatic and unstable.

Arr whipped back to look at Ecks. “Then you went to Mr. Pea’s set-up in Peaceful Meadows and you helped this U.N.C.L.E. trash fight him! And you killed Mr. Pea when he was just about to rid the world of one of them!”

“But you decided to stick to the plan even after discovering that,” Illya spoke now, hoping to get Arr’s mind on something other than his hatred for Ecks.

“Of course,” Arr snarled. “We planned it all out together. Mr. Pea fell heroically and will be hailed as a martyr to the cause. I will be its new leader.” He looked to Ecks. “I wish I could keep you alive and kill you slowly, but I don’t have the facilities for that joyous event. I’ll have to kill you now. At least I can watch you writhe in pain as the life fades from your eyes.”

“No!” During Arr’s crazed spiel, Phillipe had been quietly creeping up on him from behind. Now he tackled Arr to the floor, surprising the madman.

Illya immediately stepped on Arr’s wrist, forcing him to drop the gun in the affected hand. “Run!” he commanded Cue and Ecks.

Ecks grabbed Cue’s wrist, but she held fast. “Tell me this,” she said. “If you’re just going to kill me anyway, why do you even want me to go with you while the others die here?”

Arr looked up at her and spat a foul name. “I won’t tell you that.”

“Or what’s happening to Wye and Solo?” Ecks finally burst out. “You know, don’t you?!”

That brought a sneer to Arr’s scarred face, even as Phillipe continued to force him to the floor. “Maybe I’ve got it all wrong,” he hissed. “Maybe Wye should die and you should stay alive. You love that man. It would really make you suffer to find his ravaged body and know that he suffered immensely before expiring.”

Hatred flashed in Ecks’ eyes and he took a step forward. But then, gathering his emotions just as quickly, he turned and pulled Cue with him instead. “Come on. They’re buying us time. Let’s get out of here.”

Cue opened her mouth to protest, but then didn’t. She knew Ecks was right. She ran out with him into the waning afternoon light.

Illya frowned down at Arr. “Why do you hate Mr. Ecks so much?” he asked. “Why not hate Mr. Wye just as much or more?”

“I hate them both,” Arr said. “But I was around Ecks more. Wye just joined for kicks. You can’t expect loyalty from someone like that. But someone in Ecks’ position, with two heroic agents as his parents, should have grown into one of the organization’s staunchest warriors.”

“Instead he apparently became one of its staunchest opposers,” Illya intoned.

Without warning Arr violently jerked and rose, sending both Phillipe and Illya falling back in surprise and shock. “Now you’re probably wondering why I just let you subdue me without a fight,” he sneered as he got to his feet.

“You were just biding your time,” Illya said from where he had crashed, sitting down hard in back of the window display. “Perhaps you wanted Ecks and Cue to run out.”

“Perhaps I did,” Arr nodded and grinned. “Perhaps they’ll find more danger out there.”

Phillipe, dazed against a shelf, struggled to stand. “You are a beast!” he proclaimed. “Going after any woman like that and wanting to tear apart a beautiful friendship and leave one man alive to suffer worse!” He pulled a heavy volume off the shelf.

“Sticks and stones,” Arr quipped.

“Well, I do not have a stone, but perhaps this will work just as well!” Phillipe brought the book down on the side of Arr’s head. Not expecting the attack, the extremist slumped to the floor.

Illya regarded the scene in approval. “Good work,” he congratulated.

“Please go after them,” Phillipe implored. “I will call the police about this man.”

“I can’t leave you alone in here with him,” Illya objected.

“Tie him up and it will be alright,” Phillipe replied. “I don’t want anything to happen to Ms. Rebecca, no matter what she may have been involved in. She doesn’t deserve to be taken prisoner by a monster like this.” He regarded Arr in revulsion. “And I’m worried about the man who left with her as well.”

“They can take care of themselves,” Illya said brusquely. “They are trained spies. You are a civilian. But yes, call the police.” He turned away and bent down to commence restraining Arr with handcuffs.

Under his breath he said, “And you had better prove that you can both still fall back on your training in this situation.”

His thoughts turned again to Napoleon and Wye. What was wrong? Why hadn’t Napoleon answered Illya’s call? Why had Ecks ended up cut off with Wye?

He snapped the handcuffs closed, his eyes dark. Whatever was going on, he would believe that Napoleon would manage to get out of it. They had always come through everything before.

But someday they very likely wouldn’t. Someday it would be one or both of them outsmarted by the opposite side, just as Illya had outsmarted Ecks that day in Hyde Park. Someday their dangerous lifestyle would catch up with them and they would be dead. Maybe even this day.

Illya straightened and reached for his communicator pen to try Napoleon again. No. It would not be this day. If it was, if Napoleon was already gone, there had been no chance to say Goodbye. Illya tried not to give in to sentiment, and he knew very well that he had been trained to accept agents’ deaths, even his partner’s death . . . but he also knew that even the most efficient agent’s training could fail at such a time.

“Open Channel D,” he barked. “Come in, Napoleon. Napoleon, come in!”

Only silence answered him. Finally he gave up, cursing in his mind as he opted to contact Mr. Waverly instead.

But even though he wasn’t sure what he believed, he could not refrain from sending a prayer for Napoleon’s safety to whatever God might exist. And, he reflected, Wye’s, Ecks’, and Cue’s safety as well. They needed to bring Cue back to complete their mission successfully. And when he thought on it, he really didn’t want to see Ecks and Wye torn apart as they had nearly been in London. He had saved Ecks’ life because he felt the obnoxious former enemy agent deserved another chance. Under the circumstances, he felt Wye did too. Neither would really be happy without the other; an irreparable hole would be torn in the life of whichever friend was left if one was killed.

And Illya knew that after so many years of knowing Napoleon, that would be his own feeling if the unthinkable ever happened and Napoleon did not come out of a mission alive, either this one or another one.

****

Wye swore in aggravation as the torpedo knocked the phone out of his grasp. He and Napoleon had been ambushed before they could get out of the San Fernando Valley. Now they were fighting in a park, and although they were managing to hold their own, Wye wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep it up.

“There’s four more coming!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “They’re really out to get us!”

Napoleon, struggling to restrain the one in front of him, was suddenly grabbed from behind by a second. “That could be . . . decidedly awkward,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Do you ever lose your temper?” Wye grunted as he finally managed to judo-flip the hitman attacking him.

Napoleon kicked back at the thug behind him while shoving the one in front away. “I try to make it a point not to,” he answered, smoothing his hair before turning and karate-chopping another approaching enemy.

“That’s the best policy for a spy, of course,” Wye acknowledged, kicking a third attacker in the stomach and sending him falling back, gasping in pain. “Just like Kuryakin.”

“Or Mr. Ecks,” Napoleon intoned, sending a fourth crashing back into a tree.

One of the approaching four started to draw a gun. Wye responded by shooting him down. “What if somebody did something to Kuryakin?” he asked. “Could you stay so calm, cool, and collected then?”

Napoleon inwardly tensed at the question, although outwardly he tried not to react. “We’ve been in plenty of tight spots before,” he said. “I’ve always remained calm and we’ve come out of them.” As a second one raised a gun, he fired back and dived behind a bush.

Wye fired twice and joined him. “But what if he didn’t come out of it? What would you do?”

Napoleon gripped his gun tightly. He had thought about that many a time, although he hoped the time would never come that it would become reality. “I would see that the killer was brought to justice, if at all possible,” he answered, his tone low and clipped.

The final two thugs came to the bush and towered over it, readying their weapons. Napoleon and Wye each fired and each hit one. The hitmen crumpled to the grass. Napoleon and Wye slowly began to rise.

“Yeah,” said Wye. “That’s the normal, human reaction.”

Napoleon looked around for other conscious enemies. Seeing none, he moved to replace his gun. “We’d better get out of here and find out where Illya and Mr. Ecks have got themselves,” he said.

“I hope your communicator is in better shape than this,” Wye said in annoyance as he plucked the phone out of the grass and held it up by one corner.

Napoleon winced at the cracked screen. “Luckily, U.N.C.L.E. communicators are built to withstand a lot of chaos, unlike those.” He nodded at it.

Wye snorted. “Well, of course. Phone companies ain’t expectin’ their customers to go gettin’ into fights with assassins and havin’ their devices go spinning into space.” He paused. “On second thought, maybe they are. Then they get a lot more money when the customers have to replace the things.”

Napoleon found himself amused. “That sounds something Illya would say.” Finally locating his communicator in the grass, he pulled it out and uncapped it. “Channel D, open. Illya, are you there?”

The device crackled to life. “Napoleon, what on Earth is going on there?!” Illya sounded highly putout and aggravated, but Napoleon could hear the underlying worry in Illya’s voice.

“Mr. Wye and I were attacked,” Napoleon explained. He started walking, deciding it prudent that they get out of the park before the thugs still alive recovered enough to come after them again. Understanding what Napoleon had in mind, Wye strode after him.

“Are you alright?” Illya demanded.

“Yes, we’re both fine,” Napoleon assured him. “What about you and Mr. Ecks? And Ms. Cue?”

Illya sounded frustrated as he replied, “We were attacked as well. I sent Mr. Ecks and Ms. Cue away while my double and I grappled with Mr. Arr.”

Wye stiffened. “So he is still alive,” he said darkly.

“Not only alive, but he seems to have a vendetta against Mr. Ecks,” Illya said flatly. “The police have been called and they’re on their way to pick him up. I just finished telling Mr. Waverly what’s been happening. As you can imagine, he is less than pleased. Although he is gratified that Ms. Cue has been located.”

“She must have been chuffed to see Ecks again,” Wye commented.

“Actually, no,” Illya told him. “She seemed very bitter against him and you. She said you betrayed the organization for the wrong reasons and not because you wanted to get out, as she did. It was rather difficult to get her to agree to trust us.”

“Well, how do you like that,” Wye muttered.

“If you know how to contact Mr. Ecks, I recommend that you do it,” Illya continued. “We need to arrange a new place to meet.”

“I’ll have to use a payphone,” Wye said in irritation. “If there’s even any around here.”

“We should be able to find one somewhere,” Napoleon mused. “Keep in touch, Illya. By the way, what’s your double like?”

“Interesting,” Illya said brusquely. “He isn’t as much of a pushover as Mr. Ecks implied; he knocked out Mr. Arr with a heavy book.”

“Well, good for him,” said Napoleon.

“Oh, and Napoleon, be careful,” Illya implored. “Mr. Arr is completely deranged. If anyone else is working with him, they will most likely be just the same.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Napoleon replied. “That’s certainly a grim picture.”

Wye was troubled as Napoleon disconnected and recapped the pen. “I don’t know what to think about this,” he said. “Oh, I’m not surprised about Arr. And people can change, of course, but I just can’t feature Ms. Cue turnin’ against us like that.”

“I remember you and Mr. Ecks said she always felt you two would find a way to get out of the organization,” Napoleon said. “Maybe it really was a shock for her when you decided to go along with Mr. Zed’s plans instead of escaping.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Wye said. “I’ve certainly seen a lot of people changing through the years, mostly in unfavorable ways. Still, though, it makes me worry. If she’s that against us now, and Ecks is somewhere alone with her, maybe she’ll try to hurt him and run off.”

Napoleon’s eyes flickered in concern. “You could be right. We’d better find a phone, and fast.”

“You really don’t have anything other than that pen thing?” Wye sighed.

“I’m afraid not,” Napoleon replied. “You see, the people I speak with most frequently can be reached by this pen. It would be cumbersome to carry other devices with me.”

“Well,” Wye said in resignation, “I guess that’s not much of a surprise. Alright then. Lead on, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon nodded. “It will be my pleasure.”


End file.
